In the kingdom of Astrith, Queen Elira was crowned at the age of 27, following the sudden death of her father, King Roen. The once peaceful realm was now teetering on the edge of war. Elira, with her wild, red hair and piercing green eyes, was not yet seen as a ruler but rather as a girl unprepared for the weight of the crown. However, deep within her veins, the ancient bloodline of the First Kings pulsed with power long thought dormant.

On the day of her coronation, whispers filled the grand hall. It was said that her lineage carried more than just royal blood—it carried the magic of the old world, a force capable of uniting or destroying kingdoms. Elira knew this power existed within her, but she had not yet learned to control it. The council urged her to marry, to find a king who could guide her, but Elira knew that no man could tame the storm within her heart. She was meant for something far greater than a throne shared in complacency.

The fate of Astrith rested on her decision, but Elira knew one thing for certain—she would not allow her enemies to define her legacy. She would shape it herself.

Queen Elira stood alone on the stone balcony overlooking the sprawling kingdom of Astrith, her hands resting lightly on the cold rail. The wind tousled her fiery hair as her gaze drifted toward the dark forests on the horizon. She could feel the ancient magic stirring, whispering through the trees, calling her to unlock its secrets. Her advisors had been urging her to convene with the council, but Elira needed this moment of stillness. The weight of the crown pressed heavily upon her, yet she knew that soon, she would have to decide the fate of her kingdom.